


You're My Favourite Mistake

by Demytasse



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Crush at First Sight, Crushes, Drama, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Emotionally Repressed, Empathy, Flirting, Immaturity, Introspection, Izuo - Freeform, M/M, Past, Raijin Days, Recovered Memories, Sexual Tension, Shizaya - Freeform, Student Izaya, Teacher Shizuo, Teacher-Student Relationship, Teen Crush, Underage but not really, Wishful Thinking, dealing with the past, real world repercussions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-04-25 13:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14379534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demytasse/pseuds/Demytasse
Summary: Shizuo returns to Raijin as a teacher well desired by the student body, but has especially caught the eye of a rather flirtatious Izaya. Sticking to his morals is harder than Shizuo can deal with and forces him to analyze where his maturity lies compared to his years. A teacher/student fic with real world repercussions, a deeper plot, and looks beyond a simple kink-fic.---His attention snapped backward. He immediately saw red, although in this case it was more literal and less in comparison to the narrowed anger of a bull. Posed before him was a student clad in a dark uniform that framed a deep crimson undershirt that had been his initial focus.With his heart-rate increased, he eyed the teen that presented his confidence with a cocked hip, crossed arms, and a smirk that hid too much. Shizuo knew his easy days as a teacher were at the mercy of this cocky bastard who aimed his devious intent straight for the bullseye. For once, he wasn't the animal in question, but the prized target.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't like calling this out because it kinda spoils the fun, but it's for the benefit of people who might be squicked out by adult/underage relationships. NOTHING happens while Izaya is underage.

The break between year-end exams and the new term had ended just short of what seemed enough time to recover. It brought forth the first day for reluctant students and exhausted teachers, neither ready to start the repeated cycle yet again.  

For second and third years, it was old hat. A predictably boring day with a roll through needless introductions and syllabus reviews. On the other hand, the first-year students were thrown into the hell that was the bottom of the social totem-pole. Alongside the unfortunate victims, another took the plunge as well. It was a particular individual who had been through the high school trudge before, but now got to experience it from the other side. Heiwajima Shizuo, was back at his alma mater with a new role as class 3-B’s homeroom teacher. 

Instead of his old seat among the duplicate desks, he now stood oddly postured under a halogen spotlight, dressed up like an awkward adult and no longer dressed down like the teenager that Raijin taunted him to crawl back to. 

From his vantage at the front of his class, he felt the strain of his forced smile start to drag his lips back down to his neutral expression. It wracked his nerves to have thirty sets of eyes asses his every move and word, but it was especially obvious in the latter half of the day. 

He wasn’t aware prior to the afternoon, but a duo of his female peers had made a point to inform him that he'd already been marked by the student body. Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite what he was hoping, but Shizuo figured it could have been worse since he was used to fearful reactions directed his way. 

The 6’1, bottle blond, twenty-something was apparently a looker, and a good handful of the school’s population had developed an instantaneous crush for the “new hotness” on campus. Luckily he didn’t care much for his image, but it certainly made him hyper aware of undivided attention shot his way the remainder of the day. 

The last chunk of his prepared speech was interrupted by the final bell and initiated an instant rise of eager students to break for the door.

    "Ah! Tomorrow, I'll dismiss you, not the bell." Shizuo held the volume of his voice back.

He made a pitiful attempt to hide the sharp notes that often intimidated others even when presented with a kind gesture, but he was desperate to keep himself in a favourable light.  

A courteous female bowed in respect as she passed his desk before she shuffled off, boisterous childhood friends paired off as they left laughter in their wake, while done up girls weaved desks as they assessed peers with harsh judgement. A final outcast tripped through the exit to leave Shizuo to his own company.  

Energy vibrated throughout his body with a mixture of nerves and excitement. None of his students seemed in fear of him. 

     _His first day as a_ _bonafide_ _teacher actually turned out alright._

Casually, he combined loose sheets of paper into a neat pile with a double-tap on the desk. There wasn't much to tidy, but he felt compelled to straighten empty folders and fresh office supplies to show off his space with pride.  

The teacher studied the messy strokes that made up the characters of his name on the aged, green board he had turned to face. It didn’t feel like his name was worthy enough to broadcast his ownership of the classroom but given time he figured it wouldn’t make him so bashful to see it scrawled out like it was. 

He grabbed an eraser and placed it against the surface with a puff of dust to initiate a sweep across his name.  

    "You know, Heiwajima-sensei doesn't quite roll off the tongue." 

The motion of his hand stalled. Dutiful janitorial work distracted him from a student just out of his line of vision. Something about the teen's voice set off a warning in his head. 

His attention snapped backward. He immediately saw red, although in this case it was more literal and less in comparison to the narrowed anger of a bull. Posed before him was a student clad in a dark uniform that framed a deep crimson undershirt that had been his initial focus. 

With his heart-rate increased, he eyed the teen that presented his confidence with a cocked hip, crossed arms, and a smirk that hid too much. Shizuo knew his easy days as a teacher were at the mercy of this cocky bastard who aimed his devious intent straight for the bullseye. For once, he wasn't the animal in question, but the prized target.  

    "Seems fine to me." A cautious brow quirked.  

    "That's because you don't have to say it, Heiwajima-sensei!" He showed his tongue as if it were tired from a twist of complex syllables. 

    "Heiwajima-sensei." 

    "...did you really just..." Amusement spread across his sly features. 

Shizuo scanned his roster to grab a name he had forgotten. 

    "Orihara-kun, don't you have a club to go to or something?"  

    "Izaya."  

    "What?" 

    "Call me _Izaya_ ," his trilled name accompanied his lean over the obstacle between them to deliver a direct invite. 

Shizuo retreated and waved his hands.  

    "Oh no." He knocked his penholder to the floor with a clatter. "No, no. I don't play favouritism, Izaya."  

    " _Really now?_ " he purred his positive reinforcement. 

    "Fuck!” He growled, "Orihara-kun, don't try me." 

Rich brown eyes widened to accentuate a reddish tinge that the sun brought out. If Shizuo weren't so put off by the gremlin-like smirk he would have thought it was alluring. As it were, all he saw was a future nuisance. 

    "You're fun, Heiwajima-sensei." 

    "At least you're using the correct name." He sighed.  

Shizuo yanked at the legs of his starched slacks to ease tension at the knees. He bent down to gather the mess of unused pens he created moments earlier. Izaya, met him at the floor already in a crouch, less worried about the wrinkle of his worn-in uniform. 

    "Only because you won't tell me your given name." He shrugged with an intentional reach towards the pen that he predicted his teacher would go for. 

Instinctively, Shizuo slapped the top of Izaya's hand to prevent an accidental connection that he'd rather not make. His student looked almost pleased by the scold, which set off a click of the teacher's tongue. 

    "You didn't ask." 

    "What's your name, _Heiwajima-sensei_?" 

    "Ha. Nice try!"  

    "I thought so." 

The two stayed low in their crouch, basked in shadow beside the desk. It was too intimate for comfort, mostly due to their hidden position away from the doorway, but especially because his pupil was particularly attractive and easily confused for a man closer to his own age.  

That and he was the exact image of Shizuo's type: lithe, dark haired, and full of rebellious zest. He mentally cursed his luck. 

Izaya seemed to pick up on the curious way that Shizuo sized him up and tugged his lips into a pretty smirk for his teacher. With a slight tilt, Izaya invaded his space to increase the heat between them. 

Shizuo parted his lips to air his mouth that had wet with mild salvation, but only managed to let out a strained breath.  

    "You look rather hot, Heiwajima-sensei." His expression turned sultry, "and I do mean that to be taken with both definitions in mind." 

It took him an extended moment to parse the comment before Shizuo shot up off the ground and out of his dangerous thoughts. 

    "No.” He shook his head, “NO!" 

Izaya fell backward into a bruised fall against the floor. Lucky for Shizuo, the distraction made it easy to pluck the teen up by the back of his collar to drag him off. 

The brunet clawed to loosen the chokehold at his neck without panic before he got his footing and let himself be led out of the classroom. 

    " _He's strong too..._ " his pale cheeks flushed. "Where are we going, Heiwajima-sensei?" 

Shizuo's forceful shove sent the giggling teen out into the hallway who was barely able to brace his clash against the wall. A gasped _wow_ left his lips as he shook the kink out of his impacted wrist. 

    " _You're_ going home." He frowned and grabbed the door handle. "See you tomorrow, Orihara-kun."  

The door crashed against the frame and shook dust from cracked drywall. Shizuo listened as the teen hummed. He sounded more impressed than intimidated and it perplexed him that Izaya could feel anything but fear in that situation, much like any sane person would. 

     _God, was he clapping as well?_  

Perhaps, Orihara Izaya wasn't a particularly _sane_ individual, but he did a wondrous job of piquing interest. 

    "It's a date, Heiwajima-sensei!" The door muffled the message, but his syrupy tone managed to work itself passed the barrier to tease Shizuo's eardrums. Izaya's voice raised his hairs off the surface of clammy skin. 

    "IT'S CLASS, NOT A DATE!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izaya offers up an incentive for Shizuo to give into his desires...at least eventually.  
> \---  
>  _It took immense willpower to even raise his hand in preparation to remove the other’s hold from him, but Shizuo couldn’t get his shaky fingers to make their way around the tantalizing peek of smooth skin that Izaya's sleeve exposed. The brunet noticed the focus his teacher had on his wrist and coerced the fabric to slip further down._  
>   
>  _The pale exposure of his forearm wasn't indecent, per se, but the act of removing even a miniscule amount of clothing taunted Shizuo’s urges to get the brunet to strip for him, if only his jacket. His heavy swallow brought a bit of his hesitancy along with it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some creative liberties that stray from canon... Then again this is an AU so, lol, I suppose that's not entirely important.

Week two, a synopsis: _irksome_. 

To clarify, Shizuo's class behaved well enough as a whole, which really said something as his students were far from being a composed bunch. A few idiots talked to no end during his lectures, another dozed off immediately upon arrival, while a particular individual insisted on taking multiple "bathroom" breaks within an hour. Every day. 

He didn’t want to believe himself a lenient teacher, one that slacked on his discipline of immature students, but it took all of his focus not to be taken control by another's hypnotism. Therefore, strict adherence to class rules took a backseat due to a brattish teen that turned the other nuisances into white noise. 

Shizuo often found his focus stray to Izaya, almost like his student was able to manipulate the way his head turned. Interspersed between cutesy smiles and attentive stares an occasional wink was flashed; not the innocent and friendly kind, but one of a temptress. The fact that it wasn't patterned made it harder to steel his countenance, thus stutters would mess up his speech at random while he strategized use of the chalkboard to hide an occasional fervent glow. 

As preposterous as it seemed, Shizuo almost started to believe the effect to be magecraft instead of admitting that he relented to weakness.  

The eventual release of his eighth, torturous session rang out with a victory bell. Unlike the first day, though, he had nothing but a strained sigh as everyone ran for the door. His chair creaked and rolled backwards as the exhausted teacher collapsed into an immediate slump.   
   


Without further prompt, he rubbed deep into his temples to relieve the headache he had gained early in the day. The week was only half through and it somehow managed to stretch even longer while he was spread even thinner. What made it worse: it was only two weeks into the first term.  

A sudden, poignant clear of another's throat roused him from his thoughts. 

     _Of course_ _..._  

Shizuo opened his eyes to see the expected teen seated on the edge of his desk. Izaya’s slender leg elegantly propped over the other as his gaze was curious and rife with boyish charm. 

    "No." Shizuo grunted. 

    "That word sure does make up half of your dialogue." 

    "Only with you." 

    "I'm touched." 

    "You shouldn't be.” He said in a dry tone. “Now leave." 

    "Aww. But why, Shizuo-sensei?" 

    "Because I have work--" he halted. "You...figured out my name." 

    Izaya added a feminine lilt to his voice, “because you wouldn't tell me it, Shizuo-sensei."  

    "Stop callin' me by my name!!!" His voice cracked as it raised while a choke impacted the control he had of his vocal chords. 

He didn’t want the flirtatious teen to use his name in such a familiar fashion. Honestly it wasn’t just familiar, but it also took on a sense of ownership. At least that’s what Shizuo made of the sweet tone his student used. 

    "Hmm. What about Shizu-sensei?"  

    "Ugh." He pinched the bridge of his nose. 

Izaya scrunched his face. 

    "Yeah, I agree, that sounds awful." 

    "...glad you agree..." 

    “Hmm,” Izaya pressed a finger to his chin, “perhaps I could use _senpai_.” 

Shizuo scoffed. 

    “I’m not your senior, brat, I'm your teacher.” 

    Izaya struggled to hold back a nasal laugh. “You’re acting more like a high schooler than a high _scholar_ , Shizuo-senpai!” 

    “Shut up!” 

    “I mean, you _are_ only four years older than me…” 

    “Orihara…” he warned. “How much did you dig into my info?” 

    “Oh, only the simple things. Mostly your name, birthdate, old school records, possibly your relationship status," he winked. “But for now, the pertinent information was how you rode the Raijin Academy Escalator right on up to your current position. What do you suppose that means?” 

Shizuo stared blankly. He couldn’t fathom where Izaya was going with this.  

    “We attended elementary school together! Technically speaking you were my senpai, Shizuo.” Amusement set in his eyes. 

    “Are you fuckin' kidding me…” 

    “I would think you’d know your own school history, Shizuo-senpai.” 

    “You know what I mean.” he shoved at Izaya’s chest. 

The hollow thump knocked the wind out of the teen. Shizuo reveled as Izaya sputtered and stopped his ramble if even for a moment. 

    “No to 'senpai' then?” he huffed. “You certainly are a picky one.” 

    “I have a legit reason for that, brat.” 

    “Then, how about Shizu-chan?” 

    " **ORIHARA!** " 

    "Ah! It's perfect!” He sounded a clap as he chirped.  “It's just as cute as you are, _Shizu-_ _chan!_ " 

His expression couldn't decide whether it wanted to be annoyed or not, but the flush to his cheeks spoke more of Shizuo's true reaction to Izaya's compliment than anything else.  

    “ _He likes it…_ ” Izaya whispered in an appreciative mock. 

    "Listen, Orihara-kun. I'm not lookin' for a relationship with a minor--" 

    "Of course not." Izaya interrupted. 

    "Ok." He let out his breath and dislodged his fingers from the divots he created on his armrests. "We're on the same page." 

Izaya’s eyes flashed as he took notice to the damage Shizuo had done to his chair then rolled his eyes back onto him. 

    "My birthday is in a month and a half."  

Izaya eased forward to better show off his ecstatic beam. Wide, glossy eyes filled Shizuo's vision and forced him to ease back so he wouldn't be drawn into their depth on accident. 

    "Good for you."

    "I thought that would excite you."  

    "Excited for my student's birthday?” 

     _Why did he bother asking that?_  

A slender finger hooked underneath the slack noose of Shizuo’s tie, while light bounced off of a silver ring.  

    "I won't be a minor anymore." 

    "...o-oh..." 

     _Oh, indeed. Oh NO_ _!_  

The anxious teacher was yanked towards his student, only a half of a foot away, but enough for them to share the same breath. 

    "Are you going to give me a present?"

It was subtle, but Shizuo picked up on the intentional replacement of _get_ in Izaya’s question and was thrown off by the connotation of what gift he wanted to be _given_.

    " _Izaya_..." Deep crimson washed over his cheeks all the way up to his ears, his voice dipped to a barely audible level. 

    A chuckle bubbled from Izaya's throat. "Yes, _Shizu-_ _chan_?"

It took immense willpower to even raise his hand in preparation to remove the other’s hold from him, but Shizuo couldn’t get his shaky fingers to make their way around the tantalizing peek of smooth skin that Izaya's sleeve exposed. The brunet noticed the focus his teacher had on his wrist and coerced the fabric to slip further down. 

The pale exposure of his forearm wasn't indecent, per se, but the act of removing even a miniscule amount of clothing taunted Shizuo’s urges to get the brunet to strip for him, if only his jacket. His heavy swallow brought a bit of his hesitancy along with it. 

Curious to see more, he trailed his eyes up the path Izaya’s arm created to his prominent collarbone that stood out from behind a wide neckband. Shizuo was entranced by the teen's shallow breaths that showed off his upper torso. It created an elegant ebb and flow that easily pulled him into its current and sucked him in by way of the undertow.  

His fingers singularly wrapped around Izaya’s wrist and brought it away from his tie. The silk fabric delicately slipped through his long digits and fell back into place. Shizuo could feel the race of his own heart coincide with the beat that pounded at the teen’s veins. 

Their distance diminished while their eyelashes fluttered against their cheeks, desperate to fully close. A few inhalations of shared oxygen choked their lungs. The dizzy high had them enraptured by each other's presence alone, almost as though a kiss would ruin the moment.  

     _A_ _kiss…_  

Shizuo relented a deep groan.  

     _…he could easily lose himself…_  

The teen pressed his eyes shut and tilted his chin up in wait. He let out the remainder of his air supply to cool the heat on Shizuo’s skin. 

     _…god, he wanted_ _Izay_ _a_ _…_  

He angled his head and let the spell Izaya cast on him to pull him in. Shizuo desired to feel those chapped lips on his, what Izaya had slicked a second earlier in anxious want. 

     _Wait!_  

Shizuo pushed them apart with unintentional force. Izaya stumbled backward as he had disconnected from his surroundings. He flailed to catch himself. 

    "Orihara-kun, go the **fuck** home!" His eyes filled with panic and toyed with rage. 

He almost slipped into using the other’s given name, the one he wished was appropriate to use, and it had him shake his head in denial of his desires. 

Izaya blinked back his momentary hurt before he tried to force a confident smirk back into place. It was easy to see that it lacked a genuine touch. 

    "Only because you asked so nicely, Shizu-chan."  

    "Y-yeah." He tangled his grip around Izaya's collar in fashion of a week prior. He tried to evade any grace of skin that he could. 

Izaya went against the strategy as he knocked his head back to bring the tips of Shizuo's knuckles to his neck as he was dragged out of the classroom. The blond groaned when the sensation sent sparks across the surface of his skin.  

    "Hey, _Shizu-chan~_! Can I pencil in our date for May fourth? That’s my birthday, of course.” 

Shizuo swung his arm to send the pest down the empty corridor and slammed the door immediately. The structural integrity of it was fairly impressive to take such a constant beating, but a hairline fracture still made its way across the wood grain. 

Shaken and nervous, Shizuo raked fingers through his sweat drenched locks as he stumbled backward to find support against his desk. He got dangerously close to violating his own morals because of his overactive libido.  

Maybe he was too young to be a teacher like so many warned him. He was so kindly reminded that only four years separated him and Izaya. That made his lust-filled thoughts only slightly less skeezy. Probably… 

    ... _not. Probably not in the slightest._  

A minute spun into five as he tried to control his breath. He was pulled into a sense of safety until his meditation was cut just short of his zen. 

    "Is hot pot alright, Shizu-chan?" 

Shizuo threw his stapler at the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...basically. YES I am aware that Shizuo didn't attend Raijin academy from elementary all the way onward to uni, that was just Izaya. Shhhh... Just accept it.
> 
> The only thing more enjoyable than writing flirtatious Izaya is writing flustered Shizuo. Haha.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shizuo is avoiding his past while Izaya throws him a curve ball to make things worse.  
> \---  
>  _It wasn't like Shizuo didn't know that Izaya was inches shorter than him, but when the other straightened to his full posture the stark difference of their stature was more apparent. It had him reassess the details of the brunet without realizing._  
>  _His skinny limbs seemed more so when compared to his broad shoulders; the teen’s slim silhouette directly opposed his own wider set torso and hips._  
>  _Izaya managed to even their height with his air of confidence despite the angle his chin had to tilt upward to meet their eyes. It was an act that wasn't for the weak when it dealt with the stone-cold glare of what was often defined as beastly. Izaya should be commended for that bravery, he supposed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was originally supposed to be four chapters, but I realized there was too much of a jump between chapter two and three. Thus, two more chapters were born. Yay?

Shizuo wouldn't define himself as sentimental. There was a particular image associated with that personality quirk and whenever he tried it on for size it only left him feeling awkward and silly. What he did consider himself, though, was someone who had a knack for holding sentiment for particular things. There was a difference, he assured himself.

For instance, the former would have inspired him to hold onto his old Raijin uniform to reminisce over in the future, while the latter let him appreciate that his mother had held onto the uniform in his place to gift back to him later on. While both were similar at their core, they were still essentially different.

When an excited text message had informed him of what had been delivered in perfect alignment with his new job’s first day, it tested if that mindset was true. Essentially, yes, it held up. His mother seemed to have some magical foresight at times and he wouldn’t be surprised if she had his uniform dry cleaned and prepared to send off to him at a moment’s notice for years; that was endearing in and of itself.

That being said, he hadn't opened the box since it had shown up at his doorstep weeks back, almost like he didn't want to admit that he would find pride equal to the sender if he let himself.

Shizuo was bashful when met with another’s enthusiasm for his accomplishments as it was a rare occurrence that there was ever something worthy. It was praise that usually fled passed him and straight onto his younger, more successful, brother.

 _It was better off with Kasuka, anyway._  

That pride, however, taunted him every morning as he left his apartment for work. On the weekends it would peek around the opened bills that littered his counter top to upset his breakfast. Even weeks later the elegant calligraphy on the shipping label tempted him to delve into his past that he avoided for unknown reasons.

The immaculate uniform and accessories would be rife with old high school memories, ones he didn’t feel necessary to connect to his current. So he continued with failed attempts to cover its stare with expired advertisements.

 _Not yet_.

He couldn't predict when the appropriate time to open it would be, nor did that really matter to him. It wasn't his present day's responsibility to decide, but one of a future whim.

A month of neglect brought him to the beginning of what he thought would be another. But anything adamantly avoided was doomed to take over in due time, and for Shizuo it was sooner than he wanted.

 

Upon entrance to his half populated classroom he immediately knew something was amiss when a particular brunet failed to register on Shizuo's keen radar. He was consistently able to pinpoint Izaya’s location within seconds as if that radar was specific to finding him alone. It was easy to spot black and red amongst the sea of blue clad students, but the dress code rebel had a certain appeal to him that would have made him a spectacle regardless.

Not that there was a defined dress code to make Izaya a deviant in that regard, but Shizuo’s class seemed too lazy to stray from the default threads that Raijin had provided so it was apt after all.

After his third comb through the socialites and loners he became worried that Izaya had fallen ill, gotten himself into trouble, or lost interest in his studies.

 _Well, at least his study of him._  

He shook off the needless unease with a ‘tsk’ for his own discipline. Without the brat to muck up his scheduled lecture it assured that he would be able to focus on teaching properly. That should be his priority, after all.

Shizuo took to his morning habits without cognizance as he planted a firm grasp on the plush edge of his desk chair. An abnormal resistance was held against the swivel, but his mind was too occupied to listen to his instinct’s warning that there was a reason for that.

Maybe a delivery of new school supplies had been deposited on the seat? Perhaps, an occupant already sat in his place? They were thoughts that he would have parsed through on any other day. He really should have.

Anxious prickles shot up his spine when he dropped himself onto the chair. He eased his weight off of the unfamiliar surface while he prepared to scold whom he knew was behind him. Annoyance took priority over embarrassment.

"Orihara, why the hell are you bugging me already..."

His voice trailed when he caught a glimpse of what seemed like another background character dressed in the proper blazer and pants set. The cocky steeple of fingers and crossed legs contested the cookie cutter image with something akin to a fashion model. It was more suave than anything he would expect to find in the un-extraordinary high school setting.

Shizuo blinked to clear the conflict of presented facts.

"How do you like it, Shizuo-sensei?"

"You're in the wrong uniform." He frowned.

"I was under the impression that this was the correct uniform, what with 80% of the student body wearing it."

"Well..."

"Unless you like me standing out." Izaya brightened.

"Tch. You could stand to fit in better. Isn't that the Japanese standard outside of school?"

"That _is_ a fair point." The teen untied his limbs and propped himself up to stand. 

It wasn't like Shizuo didn't know that Izaya was inches shorter than him, but when the other straightened to his full posture the stark difference of their stature was more apparent. It had him reassess the details of the brunet without realizing.

His skinny limbs seemed more so when compared to his broad shoulders; the teen’s slim silhouette directly opposed his own wider set torso and hips.

Izaya managed to even their height with his air of confidence despite the angle his chin had to tilt upward to meet their eyes. It was an act that wasn't for the weak when it dealt with the stone-cold glare of what was often defined as beastly. Izaya should be commended for that bravery, he supposed.

"But honestly, Shizu-chan. I wear the uniform well, hm?” Izaya twisted to show off his new outfit.

He certainly was the one who wore _it_ and not the other way around. Izaya's sharp angles and edges commanded the fabric to drape well on his form. It was funny how the gaudy uniform transformed into something that appeared intentionally styled.

"You got it tailored didn't you." He rolled his eyes to cover his appreciation.

"No, I just wear clothes well," Izaya paused, "although the floor wears them just as well if you'd like to see that."

Shizuo's eyes widened just before he looked across the flock of students that weren't as alluring. He flicked the tip of Izaya’s nose with a shock of accuracy.

"You're mean..." Izaya whined.

Shizuo felt bad when his target rubbed at his new wound. He realized that his jagged fingernail added an agitated red scuff to the surface after the teen had removed his hand to cross his arms.

"...sorry."

Instinct drew his hand forward to console the other, which halted for a moment before he ruffled Izaya's hair into a mop.

The disheveled look de-aged him. At least something less than a successful businessman with a gelled hairstyle.

_That recycled purr was unnecessary._

Izaya indeed looked younger, but he still held a mature attraction. Maybe the tousled look even enhanced his charm. It was more carefree and seemed to match Shizuo's preference better, not that he needed the added enticement.

Shizuo groaned in a manner that was indistinguishable between perturbed like he meant and perverse like it probably was. 

"Any reason you're wearing this uniform?"

"I wanted to change things up."

_That was dubious._

"Uh hu."

"Plus it got your attention."

_That was obvious._

"Sure."

Shizuo tried his best to focus on gathering documents needed for his lesson. The effort buckled under an anxious curiosity that directed his head to turn in favour of his student.

"But I'll probably switch back tomorrow." He sighed as he undid the blazer to allow the sides to hang loose. "I look too much like Shinra." Izaya muttered.

He rocked the knot of his tie back and forth to slacken its hang. The casual wear gave him the appeal of a teen idol.

Izaya snuck a glance to see if the change in his appearance garnered more favourable attention.

"Just get to your seat already, Orihara." He shoved Izaya to the side.

It was supposed to be a restrained dismissal, but it felt and sounded unnecessarily harsh and for once seemed to bruise the teen, both body and ego alike.

"Touchy..." Izaya grimaced while he corrected his stumble.

“What was that, Orihara?!” His voice threatened to raise above the bustle.

Shizuo adhered a heavy gaze to his student who frowned back at him as a returned threat.

“I said you’re quite _touchy_ today, sensei.”

“Am I?”

“More so than what I would have expected.”

“Orihara,” his voice steeled, “don’t try to act like you know me.”

    “If I wasn't mistaken, I’d say you’re probably pent up with a certain _tension_.”

_Manipulative little shit!_

“I wonder why that could be, Orihara-kun.” He stressed each syllable with spite.

Izaya searched for a tell of some kind with a subtle up and down gaze. Not many held their own in a spar with Shizuo and it intrigued him that Izaya didn’t balk.

“You probably need to get laid.”

Shizuo knew the comment was supposed to be flirtatious. It aggravated him. Unfortunate to Izaya the scowl carved into his once cool exterior made it obvious that it was a cover.

“Which is none of your business.” His face flooded with heat as he restrained his emotion from turning against him.

“Ha. That much has been made obvious,” he spat. “Thanks for clearing that up for me, sensei.”

Izaya rolled his eyes before he threw himself into a dramatic turn towards his desk. His petulance slumped his shoulders as he walked off ladened with betrayal.

A safe distance was established before Shizuo kicked an even breath back into practice.

It was enough to have Izaya attempt to sway his thoughts with what he probably thought was his sex appeal, but another thing shook him more. It was the fact that trouble spilled into Shizuo's thoughts; something he wasn't sure if Izaya planned for or if it was coincidental.

Izaya’s normal attire was inherently different from what Shizuo used to wear during his school days. It gave the illusion that the two didn’t share the same high school and it hid that Izaya just barely missed being Shizuo's junior.

The only relationship he knew of them was that of a teacher and his pupil and that perspective made their age gap more prominent. It was easier to decline advances from Izaya if it seemed that they were a decade apart in maturity, even if they were less than half of that in years.

But all of a sudden there was a direct line drawn between the two. Izaya showing up in the same uniform he had worn created false memories of them ruling the halls of Raijin at each other’s side. If Shizuo wasn't completely positive of what year it was and what point of his own timeline he was on, he could have easily confused his student as his peer and a partner in his past hijinks. An inseparable duo. Friends or something more.

That conundrum blurred what was appropriate to feel for Izaya and caused false sentiment. It was a farce of what he left boxed up in his apartment.

Thoughts dizzied his clear vision as the remainder of students took their seats.

His anger and concern equally drew his attention to Izaya. The melancholy that draped him reflected back onto Shizuo as his eyes became that of a stalker. The teen had relented the control of his aura to his subconscious. His eyelids were slack from what could have been disappointment or fatigue.

The strong presence he normally wore around Shizuo became void. Izaya simultaneously occupied his desk and left it empty as he looked to the dissipated scatter of people in the courtyard, but lacked focus on anything in particular.

_Was it Izaya’s plan to lock away his charm as punishment?_

The present version of Izaya was easier to empathize with and yet enviable as Shizuo had once wished to blend in more than he was capable. Raw emotion overtook Izaya in opposition of his default setting and Shizuo had intimate experience with that.

Izaya was just as affected by Shizuo's reactions as it was in reverse. They were equals in that respect: both vulnerable to their undeniably human nature and that aspect transcended age. It was unfortunate that their circumstances stuck them on different paths or else he would have acted differently in response to the new found kinship.

_But that wouldn’t always be the case._

It would have been better for them to have met a year later. Actually, he would have preferred to have been born a few years later than he had.

The impossibility of both hypothetical situations was hard to swallow as he felt cursed by the happenstance of where and when they met.

When he had cooled his demeanor he let a smile flicker when Izaya returned to reality from the depths of his mind. In exchange he nodded in acknowledgement.

_Did he take the apology or was it acceptance of their circumstances?_

When they had met they had each presented a definition of what they desired from one another. Shizuo had thought they conflicted and now he slowly came to the realization that he aligned with Izaya, but his reputation kept them at an impasse.

_What the fuck was their twisted relationship?_

That confusion enraged him and it only built stronger throughout the day as it assaulted his thoughts. It fought to break free and stressed his anxiety right up to the last minute.

He left the classroom almost as quick as his students, but not quick enough to avoid bumping shoulders with the one he wanted to avoid.

An animalistic glare met a hesitant, but charming smile. It was unfair to thrust his own anger onto Izaya, especially when he offered a truce. It brought Shizuo’s maturity down a few levels.

Izaya’s optimism spoiled in an instant and twisted his face into disgust, “go die, Heiwajima-sensei.”

He was down the hallway in an instant and left Shizuo's line of sight quicker than he had time to process the exchange.

The icy words had stabbed at him with more effect than anything else would. Izaya could have knifed him in the gut and he would have shrugged the action off as something he deserved. He could even handle the blood that would pool around the blade.

But this was a pain that would inflict him longer than a physical wound would take to heal.

He assumed he deserved this payment even more. Shizuo’s denial was detrimental to them both, but as an adult the responsibility was upon him to set his feelings straight and actually give a clear answer. Izaya hooked _him_ , but _he_ was the one who kept himself ensnared and it was far more despicable to keep the teen in wait of a conclusion.

_God, he was such a prick._

 

Shizuo passed up all lines of transportation to storm his way home. He had decided it was finally time to put an end to that useless battle with himself and approach his problem head on. Frustration was his snake and that damned box was the apple to cast him out of the Eden of ignorance.

It was damn well cowardly to avoid looking upon a garment. He had originally ignored opening his mother’s package to avoid his fears of the past that he insisted he had forgiven himself for. Now it had added weight that he never asked for. An older version of himself screamed to explain his current interests and it was time to listen.

The front door was busted open. He was too blinded by his one-track mind to care if he actually undid his lock or broke it. His jacket and keys were thrown in whatever direction and knocked a dirty glass to the floor.

_Fuck it._

What had become a table decoration was swept clean of the comical pile of envelopes in order to rip the box open with blatant disrespect of the layers of tape that retaliated by sticking to Shizuo’s clenched fist. The adhesive was persistent, but so was his annoyance, and soon a ball of plastic was added to the ground with a flick of his wrist.

Shizuo was anything but coy as he grabbed the folded blazer he found beneath shredded cardboard and took it with him to his bedroom.

He huffed his breath in a flurry. Once again the fuel for his decisions was none other than his riled emotions. Izaya and his advances had agitated him enough to unleash the beast he had tamed, and even it was a fraction of his potential it still affected his temper the same.  

His disheveled button-up clung itself to his chest with the sweat that had accumulated during his trek home, but he still shrugged himself into his old jacket without changing out of it. He adjusted the twist of fabric and cringed when he heard a few seams break apart from the force. Shizuo paid no mind and approached the full length mirror that hung on the opposite side of his closet door. Splinters of wood dug into his fingertips as he wrenched the door open to reveal his reflection.

_This is ridiculous._

Before him stood an enraged and yet exhausted adult who clearly wore clothing too young for him. It would have been laughable if it wasn’t so depressing.

_This was a mistake._

He noticed the pained look he had forced on himself by opening the rather Pandora-esque box; another catalyst for his emotion to break loose. His growl was sandpaper to his throat. He struggled to remove his arm from his sleeve in haste.

The blasted thing wasn’t too small, he was just that flustered and that made his attempt rather impossible to complete.

Jostled motions made an item fall out of a pocket that had been loosely repaired with a messy hand-stitch. It halted his task and distracted him from his rage.

After all these years it was hard to believe something had remained shoved in the lining, but the new addition to the floor stood as evidence against that.

Rectangular plastic was flipped upside down on the matted carpet. He assumed it was something uninteresting like an old light rail card, or maybe a useless grocery discount card that he actually held onto despite actually needing to. Still, he bent down to confirm or deny his suspicion as if it mattered to pick it up right then and there.

He reversed the blank side to reveal the portrait of a stoic teenage that bore his stare onto the curious adult. His hand twitched and almost made him lose the card to the floor again.  

_His mom must have kept his old school ID._

Shizuo studied the agitated mug before he peered over the top of the card to look at himself in the mirror and back down again. It was repeated a fair too many times before a sigh brought back a calmer mentality.

The sight made him ruminate over how quick time had caught up to him. Thoughts of how Izaya and him weren't drastically different in age suddenly seemed invalidated. Stress did terrible things to the young for certain.

_He looked so...tired._

Differences between the picture and himself were sussed out as he shifted out of his static pose to relax.

Perhaps his preppy teacher look was more responsible for his inability to dip into the memories of his adolescence. After all, high school students had it worse these days and prematurely altered their perked features into a permanent tired hang.

He laughed in mourn of the poor souls he now helped torture before he moved on to address his own problems. Shizuo puzzled out what differed between his younger and older appearance.

_To start, teen Shizuo didn't wear a tie._

He observed his awfully knotted tie. The cheap polyester was ripped from his neck and dropped into a pile at his feet.

_His past self didn't button his shirt all the way._

The collar at his neck put him in a choke hold which had seemed to constrict more throughout the stressful day. He was relieved of the tension as he undid the top two buttons. A second thought had him undo another.

_That fuckin’ hair made him look like a damn punk._

Fingers raked through his barely tamed hair and worked strands out of place. Shizuo tried to look less polished without the appearance of just falling out of bed.

_He wasn't that messy. Probably._

The rest of his style, or lack thereof, came back to his instincts. A yank of his shirt made the tails hang over his belt. He shook the shoulders of the blazer to rest more haphazard as he tried his best to wrinkle the starch out of the fabric that had been ironed in. A few more fiddles here and there bolstered him to look into the mirror again.  

When he gazed back at his reflection he found that his old, careless slouch came automatic as did the shove of his hand into his front pocket. A slight scowl turned his lip downward to complete the transformation.

With an unintended gasp, he suddenly recognized whom looked back at him. That imposter twenty-something had removed its disguise to reveal the version of Shizuo who had been lost to time. 

He hadn't realized how long it had been since he stared into the eyes of who he pictured himself to be in his mind. Alternated glances between the faded details of the ID and his reflection made him realize that he was still that unsure teen he thought he had matured from. Especially who was dragged out by Izaya near daily, but most importantly just that morning.

Shizuo puffed a laugh before it turned into inescapable humour.

_Did this make things worse or better?_

His smile grew with a tinge of manic release. Age be damned, he felt his troubled youth return to him and it was all because of Izaya. Later on this perspective might turn to ruin him, but in light of his negative emotions, his positive were just as out of his control.

The temporarily-made teen pulled his wallet out of his pocket and flipped the leather flap open. Shizuo revived his laughter when he noticed that his current ID’s profile seemed foreign to him. He shook his head at how messed up it was. He didn’t mind, but he should.

_Right?_

The student ID slid behind a stack of maxed credit cards and in front of sparse, wrinkled bills.

 _This didn’t make him sentimental_ ; _he just found sentiment in the gift he was given._

It didn’t matter that the sentiment was doing him a disservice. It was just an appreciation of what he had been. It was a merger of his old memories with the ones being created. There was nothing overly sappy about that and definitely nothing foreboding.

His wallet dropped to the floor as he fell backward onto his mattress. His energy had been expended and began to dip into the well allotted for the next day. Shizuo was exhausted from the constant run of his thoughts. It was a marathon that he wasn’t conditioned to handle and one that Izaya dragged him through.

He may have grown used to being in constant chase for affection. Although whom the chase would come from going forward was suddenly _unclear_.

His elation had refreshed him until reality stole it back before he could benefit from it.

Sure, he finally approached his past. He accepted it back into his life. But that didn't exactly solve his issue.

A flash of a devious smile filled with energetic fire crossed his mind.

“Izaya…” he tried out his name.

_There's something between them, isn't there?_

Shizuo closed his eyes to strengthen the image of the brunet that attempted to form.

His decision to fall asleep on top of his thrown comforter while dressed in his uniform would become a future regret. Insomnia would inevitably wake him in a few hours and drag him under the covers properly, but at the moment he gave fuckall.

For once he wanted to swim in a dream of his hopeless desires. Maybe he could live out what he began to realize was more than just a toy of attraction. It was lust that he wanted to grow beyond that. It was just as appealing to his thoughts as it was inappropriate.

Shizuo threw his arm over his eyes to shield out reality so he could embark in the realm of his unconscious. He clenched and unclenched his fist in time with a slow meditative breath as he slowly gave way to his slumber.

“Whatever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maaaan a lot more drama and _emotion_ was thrown into this. It took FOREVER to get this correct. Haha. Hopefully the next chapter will come quicker.  
>  As always, comments are loved and appreciated! ^^


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _An almost anorexic collarbone peeked around an oversized and unbuttoned shirt. Despite what Shizuo knew of Izaya’s well toned frame, under a blanket clothing he appeared more petite; small, vulnerable, and ready to be protected from a cruel society that would take advantage of him. A quick scan upward shattered that innocence with Izaya’s mischievous intent that attacked Shizuo._  
>   
>  \---  
>   
> Shizuo's unconscious desperately tries to explain what he's hiding from himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a bit longer than I anticipated, partially because I was out of town, but mostly because I wanted to make sure I wrote it properly.  
>   
> Somehow this bloody fic became heavier than I intended. No regrets? xD

Shizuo’s morning started with the instantaneous jump from his bedroom to his classroom. It was like he harnessed the teleportation magic of a blackout drunk who wound up exactly where they needed without recollection. Just as oblivious as a drunkard, he held little cognizance of the impossibly of that situation and continued on with his otherwise normal morning routine.

The unwilling drag of his feet was as practiced, his initial roll call counted the same early students as ever, and his leather bag was laid on his desk with the same respect he always gave. Anxiousness often preceded his day, especially since Izaya started upping his game, but given five minutes he realized it felt stronger than normal. It forebode something that was far worse than just a simple flirtatious game. 

As he felt the edges of his emergency cigarette box dig into the tender meat between his shortened nails he desperately wished for the eerie fog to clear. His fingers circled the ripped hole on the top to find solace. The fact that the worn cardstock indicated that it had stayed in his pocket longer than if he had relented to his old habit of tossing a crisp, empty pack away each day. But with his nerves on high he already felt the need for his first break that would allow him a hit of nicotine.

With a clench of his fist he steeled his resolve to make it through the day. He turned on his heel to face what should have been a light peppering of students that he had already accounted for, but what he saw was illogical.

The desks were perfectly aligned in exact, calculated angles. It was perfection that only something inhuman could set up. In like, a completed set of his students each sat at their assigned desk with doll-like stature. Their collective dead stares connected with their teacher without a blink of life.

_No...dead isn’t right..._

There was no way that their stationary bodies had ever been animated. Their joints twisted in janky angles and had Shizuo inadvertently rid his own of tension, the mere sight of their rigid lay increased how uncomfortable he already was.

Though they were undeniably his students, each with their features recognizable all the way down to their frequently worn accessories. Aside from that, their aura was more doppelganger than anything. It was uncanny, unnerving, and prepared a usually unfazed Shizuo for what already started to coerce his gaze.

A low bass thumped against his muted ears. His other senses died down in order to enhance that of his sight, one of five that focused on the outlier whose tier was far too high above his peers to even be considered one of the pack.

_Did he really need to study the male before him? Hadn’t he already memorized that picturesque brunet?_

Izaya sat center stage before him, artfully poised atop a throne of desks that were haphazardly pushed together. A spotlight, clearly not created by halogen, spilled over his carefully sculpted details. Each beam caught a new angle or a smooth edge and it slowly took the breath from Shizuo’s lungs. The heavenly light was hard to look at, rather it was the teen, god, whomever that was the source of what made his eyes squint. Regardless, he begged them to stay open.

Everything outside of Izaya desaturated in order to accentuate the tantalizing colour that painted him. A promiscuous smirk promised any attention given was more than worth Shizuo’s time. The perimeter of his narrowed vision was splashed with icy blue, a beautiful colour that the uniform was unworthy of, much like it was unworthy to drape Izaya’s godlike form.

_Was Izaya always this stunning or was it his perception that long ago twisted reality?_

A chuckle bobbed the teen’s shoulders as his limbs unfolded and spread wide to show off his owned land which was an otherwise boring classroom, but was a spectacle simply because he was in it. Crowned by the gleam of his invisible ego, he tilted his head back to urge Shizuo to acknowledge his prestige as king.

Like a subject, he bowed his head into the shadow of Izaya’s light in honour.

Shizuo knew that amongst all of the king’s belongings, he himself was a favoured toy. He was priceless even when compared to Izaya's indefinable wealth.

The admittance had Shizuo shake of his head to rid the unnecessary thoughts. Uneasy fingers rustled his bangs to partially cover his eyes as he corrected his slunk posture. The shade of his hair helped to keep control of his agency, albeit shaky.

Izaya clicked his teeth in dissatisfaction of his failed scheme to grab undivided attention of his teacher, but his smile didn’t falter as he continued onward.

"How do you like it, Shizu-chan?" he puffed his chest.

“...”

Shizuo couldn’t respond. It wasn’t that he was mute, just that the scene fast forwarded over his responses and onto the next poignant comment in a conversation that should have been shared.

"I wear your uniform well, hm?" Izaya purred.

A swallow caught in Shizuo’s throat. All that Izaya was presenting was off-puttingly reminiscent of the events from the previous day, yet with more intrigue it begged to replace that memory.

_This isn’t right..._

What he had remembered was the tantalizing tailor of the teen’s own uniform, but what he observed was excessively loose fabric that did more than suggest the perfection that lay beneath.

An almost anorexic collarbone peeked around an oversized and unbuttoned shirt. Despite what Shizuo knew of Izaya’s well toned frame, under a blanket clothing he appeared more petite; small, vulnerable, and ready to be protected from a cruel society that would take advantage of him. A quick scan upward shattered that innocence with Izaya’s mischievous intent that attacked Shizuo.

His gaze domineered the submissive pose that his body had dropped into. A shrug yanked his shoulder tips towards the ceiling as his head dipped down to strip Izaya of threat. With the motion, his shirt and blazer slipped to his elbows.

"I wish I wore your uniform half as well as you do, senpai~”

_He wished he didn’t wear it at all._

Shizuo’s interest was spiked, but he refused to indulge as he cemented himself in place with his weighted stance, his arms uncomfortably crossed tight at his chest to lock his eager hands.

Though in reaction to his stubbornness, a counter strategy was put into effect.

His bones chilled from the sensation of insects scampering up his limbs to which he attempted to shake off, but felt tension restrict him. Shizuo snapped his head to one side and over to the next to confirm what his unconscious predicted.

He instantly fell into panic.

Izaya’s greyed out peers had found a way to become even more mannequin as vibrant red strings connected them to the dark void that had replaced the ceiling. An invisible puppeteer controlled their motion. The distinct clicks of wooden joints created goosebumps to rise upon Shizuo's clammy skin as the students encircled him while tens more followed the ones that already crimped their grip on him. They were commanded to walk Shizuo closer to Izaya in order to marry their separated space.

_No...nonono!!_

Fearful yanks at his restraints dwindled his energy as his will was too weak to summon his inhuman strength, let alone anything normal. The room drew in on itself to become claustrophobic and it now choked Shizuo’s already weak breath as the lights dialed down to an intimate glow.

What once pushed his muscles, his own students, disappeared and left both males to themselves. Despite their absence the sting of judgemental glares and an echo of hissed gossip lingered in wake of their physical presence. Words like ‘pedophile’ and ‘pervert’ were thrown about the terrified teacher’s mind in a cacophony that had seemed ever-present and had grown alongside his inappropriate desire over the course of the school term. Shizuo knew the fake whispers were warranted; the haunt of his thoughts was his just reward.

The rise of tension started to boil the duo alive. Sweat rolled down Shizuo’s spine and made him shiver at the chill it created. He knew better than to believe that Izaya’s gaze kindled the fire that heated their surroundings as something like that wasn't possible, but the unnatural play of events created plausibility.

_Was the brunet mortal or was he a god like he regarded him to be?_

That status _would_ explain how Izaya’s aroused flush swayed him like it did; like it always had. It had Shizuo wonder if his own flush gave his manipulator too much insight of his incriminating thoughts.

“I know you want me out of these pesky clothes, Shizu-chan,” he reached out to twirl a lock of blond, “don’t you want to strip me already? Perhaps of my dignity as well?”

“...”

Shizuo parsed out his thoughts while he watched Izaya contort out of the top half of his uniform. The pace was tortuously slow and without the removal of his intense stare the seductive act messed with his libido.

A frustrated whimper tickled Shizuo’s fancy, “I’m tangled up~!”

Izaya barely attempted a struggle while his bare leg folded inward. An elegant pose of his toes tempted Shizuo to follow as he extended it forward to rest between his wide stance. The smooth limb hung an inch below his crotch in a tease.

“Won’t you help me?”

Shizuo gasped at the pressure against his erection that he simultaneously became aware of. He caved in on himself tangled in a mess of his own groans as the pressure increased with the smooth glide of Izaya’s leg.

The empty space between them barely gave any room for Shizuo to rest comfortably without leaning into Izaya, but no matter of how strong their combined passion was he refused. His body shook as did his resolve.

“Touch me, Shizuo…” Izaya begged.

Pleasure rushed from the base of his cock to the tip as Izaya continued his favour which increased in skill as he gained familiarization of the way his toy reacted.

"Izaya, really..." he finally gained access to his voice. "We could get caught," he shook his head weakly.

"I want to be caught..." a silky giggle escaped Izaya’s coyly pulled lips. 

_Izaya even had an attractive laugh…_

He groaned, "I have my reputation on the line." 

"And what reputation might that be?” Izaya tilted his head. “If anything, we're living up to it. I'm pretty sure that our peers hate us, Shizu-chan.

"My classmates were annoyed when I snatched up the most attractive second year on the roster without trying. Then again, I _am_ the most attractive first year so what do you expect?"

Shizuo went rigid. Mention of their _peers_ and talk about high school seniority tensed the muscles that stretched across his back.

"...I'm a student, not a teacher?"

“Of course you’re a student,” Izaya leaned in closer and slicked his own lips, “but if you want to roleplay that can be arranged, _sensei_ ,” his brow quirked.

Crimson flecks stood out from the overhang of feathered lashes. Shizuo focused on his own reflection upon the glossy surface of Izaya’s widened eyes.

“God, no… Let me be your senior.”

Shizuo’s breath was forced out of his lungs rough and hot. Had he not caught himself he would have acted upon his urge to wrap Izaya’s exposed frame with his arms. He was desperate to decorate the teen’s creamy skin with bloody accents; the future scars would be for his benefit and no one else. Shizuo felt he needed to claim Izaya as his and that alone bode dangerous.

“Then fucking touch me already, Shizuo!”  
  
Izaya spat out his request. His intent was woven with desperation, but his voice stabbed with hatred. The room brightened to an enraged hue that the teen’s shout summoned, and with it brought the wrath that Shizuo had kept pent up for too long.

“Shut up, you manipulative little shit!”  
  
Shizuo propelled forward to slam Izaya against the desktop. His vision narrowed. A blur washed away the clarity of Izaya’s features whose only response was a shocked intake of empty air. Nothing else of him was readable. Everything was shrouded in dizzy emotion.  
  
He was frantic to make out any indication of what Izaya thought of the rage that he had relinquished, but whatever expression he held was hidden behind a veil. Shizuo’s drenched bangs clung to his forehead. His breath picked up a frenzied rasp. Fingers dug into Izaya’s once unmarred skin and decorated them with discoloured purple and blue.

_What expression is he making, dammit?!_

It was imperative for Shizuo to know how his short fuse and beastly strength was received.

“Shizuo-senpai…”Izaya’s tone was unfazed.

A feral exposure of Shizuo’s teeth turned his smile manic. His fingernails lay just short of puncturing the skin beneath them with the increase of his grip.

He only wanted to scare Izaya, not injure him. In his past he had hurt far too many victims and the addition of Izaya to that tally would crush him enough that he would never repair.

_Could Izaya handle his true self? Could he accept him?_

“...you know, I won’t be a minor soon…”

“I DON’T CARE!!”

The beast reeled an arm back and formed a fist in time. His knuckles crashed into the desk just beside Izaya’s head. A splintered imprint was left behind as he threw his fist again. Shizuo’s free hand slid into a weak choke against his victim’s neck.

_He’s too calm!!_

“I CAN’T LOSE THIS JOB!”

The dent deepened under the pressure of another punch.

“I WORKED TOO HARD FOR IT!”

A rush of anger brought another onslaught to further damage the wood.

“YOU’LL FUCKIN’ SEE ME FOR WHO I AM!!!”

Blood dripped from Shizuo’s skin that had torn from the repeated attacks.

“STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”

Shizuo threw all of his weight into his blow and hung above the stationary form beneath him. He clenched his eyes. Dry sobs worked their way passed his ground teeth, the sound was cushioned by cotton and lacked an echo. As he became unhinged everything around him seemed to allow it with an empty feel.

Izaya held no presence between Shizuo’s straddle. He had no pulse, no breath, no voice, just heat that reflected off of him.

Shizuo felt alone even though he knew that he wasn’t, but the empty feeling remained for so long that he almost believed that Izaya had disappeared. The still of sound seemed to confirm that suspicion until a harsh whisper agitated the delicate hairs near Shizuo’s eardrum.

“Stop running from yourself, Shizuo.”

His eyes shot open. There was no allure in the expression that Izaya wore as only pity sunk his eyes. Normalized and weakened light outlined his body, but the shadow Shizuo cast accentuated the discoloured bags laid just under a tired gaze.

“I’m...not running…” Shizuo’s voice shook.

The teen chuckled in a manner too wise for his young age.

“Surely you don’t _actually_ believe that.”

“I…”

The brunet sighed as he raised his hand to graze Shizuo’s cheek.

“Maybe all I am is proof that you still have your past to deal with. Fear that your anger never subsided and will eventually ruin you. I’m not sure that’s fair to me, Shizu-chan, and I believe you know that.”

“Fuck. Izaya…” his bottom lip wibbled, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not the one you should be saying that to, hm?”

Izaya didn’t deserve the devastation that weighed heavy against his youthful features. His smile was hollow and his eyes were stripped of their livelihood. It was the death of hope.

A growl built in Shizuo’s throat. He had caused this event to occur with his broken temper. Once again he wasn’t the only one affected and the realization caused him to throw his built wrath across the expanse of the room with a shrill yell as he thrust his fist into the desk once more.

The final assault splintered a hole upon the damaged desktop. His momentum threw his forehead against solid surface and slammed his brain against his skull. Shizuo jolted back in fear of what the collision could have done to his student.

“IZAYA!!”

  


His vision temporarily turned blind. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness, nothing lay before him sans the destruction of what was actually his bedroom floor; it acted as a ghost of whom was never there.

“Shit…” his chest heaved as sweat dropped into a puddle. “It was a dream.”

A series of hammers rapt at his door. If he weren’t frozen in place he would have reacted to the sound of his ornery landlord that attempted to knock down his cheap front door.

“Heiwajima, shut the hell up! I’m getting complaints!”

The vibrated thumps continued until Shizuo’s silence was assured, only then did heavy footsteps storm down the hall to leave the room deathly quiet.

“Fuck…”

Shizuo grimaced as he twisted himself into a seated position. He let the mattress frame support his back. The separated points of his spine ached as his weight pressed up against the metal.

Fingers combed his hair back into a mess. Salt stung his tear ducts while a throb added discomfort to his forehead injury. The darkness made details hard to make out, but as Shizuo examined the back of his hand he noticed how the collected blood on his knuckles reflected the street light that spilled passed the crack of his curtains. He watched the roll of crimson follow his veins and realized how much his pain actually affected him.

It seemed that Shizuo's pain resistance bowed at the dominance of his emotions. His childlike vulnerability was brought back to replace his current tolerance.

_They hurt. His wounds actually hurt._

The phobia of his rage was merely covered by false maturity that he forced upon himself in order to create a career, thus he never learned to properly deal with it. So when it broke through that fragile wall he put up, it was blatant what he needed to do.

"I gotta get him out of my class..."

It was for Shizuo’s own protection. The removal of his temptation would solve his problems. He could forget that he ever strayed from his path to his peaceful future, where his adulthood was unhindered by the issues that his adolescent self failed to control.

Shizuo slumped forward onto his propped legs and laid in defeat of his weakness. He didn’t want to cast Izaya from his life, but he feared it was necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...annnnd this is where I apologize to Shizuo. ;w;  
>   
>  Seriously though, this is why I didn't want to mess it up. I needed to make sure the dream sequence made sense with how illogically chaotic it was. I only hope it wasn't a clusterfuck.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this chapter took too long to get out. I had the rough draft 85% written for awhile, but each time I tried to edit it, something kept me from finishing it. Then a bunch of one shots, new fics, tumblr asks, and other writing projects got in the way...and my fucking writing style changed (it improved? Perhaps that's wishful thinking). 
> 
> So I had to near well rewrite the entire thing, and there was much rejoicing. Yay. 
> 
> That being said...I might rewrite the previous chapters when I'm completely done with this fic since the tone accidentally changed with my style. Hurrhurr, I'll probably keep the original chapters up because I think they're kind of fun. Lol.

Shizuo was utterly detached from reality. Alone. Completely without company, save the amorphous shadow that filled his room, so omnipresent that mimicked the feel of a personality. Like the early morning darkness could provide him consolation in place of what he didn’t have, a shoulder to lean on.

Though minutes left to silence made it clear that no comfort that would be offered, nor could it ever have.

It would’ve aided him anyway. Not even a simple conversation with himself could remedy his mind’s plague at this point. Even if he wanted to talk through his issues, humour himself with the outlandish nature of his circumstance, his throat was far too parched and his tongue much too dry to allow him a voice.

He was mute while his mind was raucous. Too many ideas of what to make of his hell and how to handle the situation screamed to be heard above the rest. His head throbbed while his body shook from the cold shoulder that his old-friend darkness had given him — he appreciated the silence and lack of judgement, though it painfully lonely.

For an hour he’d paid the wall blank attention. Weary, he wished that he could sleep. Realistically he knew that staying awake was the only option, and getting up from his seat was necessary for that.

Dead weight had rested on his tailbone until it went numb, while his spine had twisted in a way it shouldn't have. His knees creaked with an attempt to stand and knocked them against one another. The whole process was uncomfortable rather than painful. It made him feel more geriatric than adolescent, and though Shizuo wanted to believe himself younger, he lost to his body that claimed older of him.

As he let the blood rush back into his limbs he took a cursory glance towards the destroyed tile at his feet, the same that had upset his neighbors with its earlier shatter. The cheap ceramic had turned to bleached dust under the force of his fists and covered a fair amount of surface area, his dark pants included.

It bit Shizuo with familiarity and backtracked him to a few days prior.

 

Izaya stood at the blackboard — chalk in hand, dust in the wake of his scrawl. Sunlight bathed the teen in its glamour, a magical experience as it bounced off airborne particles and cast a soft glow on Izaya’s studious focus. His smile was a tantalizing twist of confidence, assured in his own brilliance that not even a crinkle cut into his features.

Shizuo was hooked by the beautiful scene, ensnared by the lilted satisfaction Izaya found in his finished work which grew with the handoff of a stub of chalk from student to teacher. A tickle remained on his palm from the exchange.

It was the moment he discovered that Izaya was left handed. A needless detail, not one to hold onto, but Shizuo strayed back to the scene far too much to let it slip away. It was the umpteenth tally of what differentiated him from others, trivial attributes that made him all the more interesting.

Just like the powder that contrasted Izaya’s dark jacket that afternoon, he stood out. Just like the light sprinkle of chalk that he’d brushed off his sleeve, Shizuo felt unnervingly swept up.

 

Dead limbs tripped him into the kitchen space, barely allowed him to catch the edge of his table to steady himself.

The countertops were filthy, covered with a collection of unmatched dishes, each similarly caked with scraps or grease. Luckily, the first glass he grabbed was clean; though filled with unfiltered city water he easily knocked back the dirty contents. One chug was hardly a remedy of his dry throat, nor was two, but his third nearly had him gag and forced a hard stop.

Whether he was sick from the water or mind matters, Shizuo was displeased to find himself sitting again, barely propped up and slinking off the edge of his bar stool. The heels under his feet squeaked the support bar of his chair; the heels of his palms found exhausted eyes and rubbed firmly against the grain of his premature wrinkles.

In the increased darkness he was pulled back into a rerun of his dream.

_“Stop running from yourself, Shizuo.”_

Oddity laced the scenes of his nightmare; it was most certainly rife with symbolism and hidden meaning if he chose to look into it. Though, one part stood out from the others, so much so that it prevented an analysis of anything else. Surprisingly it wasn’t the ethereal and flirtatious version of Izaya, but the other fictitious depiction that was presented in the dream which made it easy to overlook the hyper-sexualized tease.

  _“Stop running from yourself, Shizuo.”_

Softened eyes that had been completely drained of devilish red and back to their warm brown filled his thoughts. A mysterious mood ring that was easily explained with logic, but ever curious with how it aptly depicted one’s real emotions.

  _“Stop running from yourself, Shizuo.”_

Izaya had been worried for him. _Painfully so._

Empathy was a new concept for Shizuo, only ever blessed with an abundance of sympathetic niceties that only went so deep. It was topical, phoned-in, yet meant the world to him — surprised that he was afforded the gesture let alone many given the prevalence of his tirades.

The young brunet quickly understand the sentiment only weighed as it did because he knew of nothing stronger.

Whenever Shizuo dropped from his manic expulsion, his loved ones readily offered support, their expressions wrought with pity, concern, and disappointment. Their restrained smiles hid inner fear, but diluted with time and fell evermore empty.

What familial support he could claim was ridden with self-protection, while friends inevitably left. Their devotion spoiled, worried they’d eventually become the victim of a monster.

It isolated him.

That loneliness was perpetual, the emptiness of his cold apartment was proof, and that reminder put him within seconds of losing his temper.

Pointed teeth embedded into his lip. He slit the skin intentionally if only to keep his emotions in check. His breath hitched while he clenched his drinking glass as tight as the cheap price tag would allow. It wasn’t wasn’t working.

_“STOP RUNNING FROM YOURSELF, SHIZUO!”_

A thump rattled nearby plates.

“FUCK! I GET IT!”

It wasn’t clear if his scream was vocalized. It echoed like it had, but it could have easily been an internalized reverb.

He worked sweat through his unwashed hair with a trembling hand, the physical connection gave him comfort that he hadn't gone back to sleep, because ultimately mental chaos was welcome over nightmares.

_“Stop running...”_

Shizuo smiled ruefully.

_Sympathy._

He chuckled a little, hung his head.

_What a joke._

His teeth ground against another.

Shizuo had long hoped for what he hadn’t been offered — _empathy_. The sentiment, an affectionate blessing that could conquer his shameful ways rather than keep it at bay.

His condition wasn't a physical wound that others seemed to treat it as, but a strained psyche injured by his faulty fight or flight instincts. It required more than just a _‘get well soon’_ card and a hug, but it went without understanding from outsiders.

So when Shizuo added up each of Izaya’s actions, the sum came out to read as empathy. He was someone that _did_ understand.

Troublesome as he was, Izaya was the missing piece from his life: a comrade of shared pain.

_“...Shizuo.”_

The care in his gaze, his hand offered without hesitation, the delicate caress that a beast wasn’t regularly afforded. Shizuo tried to replicate the comfort alongside his vision with his unsure hand, puppeted by his imagination — it paled in comparison.

Izaya’s actions spoke of his real concern for Shizuo’s self-inflicted yet unintentional pain. Perhaps Izaya had experienced that chaos before, and if so, Shizuo wanted nothing more than to return his support in full.

_Or more._

He wanted to take care of someone for once, and if he was allowed he’d tackle it voraciously, equal to that of his anger, but properly harnessed.

_Is it too quick to claim Izaya as that someone?_

Unfortunately it was a dream that he had to remind himself that he created, albeit unconsciously. Real as it might seem, it didn’t change the fact that it was imaginary. Slowly that notion was pulled at the seams to become incoherent belief, an idea that Izaya had planted rather than Shizuo thinking it up.

Thus forth, the unconscious wisdom was spoken through the mouth of his student turned ally.

_“Maybe all I am is proof that you still have your past to deal with.”_

His inner wisdom...

_"Fear that your anger never subsided and will eventually ruin you.”_

...seemed coerced from the depths of his mind by Izaya’s persuasion...

_“I’m not sure that’s fair to me, Shizu-chan, and I believe you know that.”_

...to that he was certain.

Izaya appeared a brat, stubborn, relentless, selfish — far too manipulative and operated in support of a boyish crush, but Shizuo couldn't shake the feeling that it was all a front.

There was more to Izaya's advances than sex, and more to his motives than shallow benefit.

_He has honest feelings…_

And Shizuo feared that he felt the same.

No one invested much into gaining his attention. There wasn't a single person that had kept to their advances once they experienced that hapless abandon of humanity. No one knew who he really was.

Yet an anomaly dressed up with a tenacious smirk ignored all the warning signs, rather took them as encouragement to further pursue.

_Was this his only chance?_

He shook his head.

_It is._

“Fuck!” his leg jittered in response.

_Pursue it._

“Goddammit!”

Glass shattered under his flex and severed his resolve, more so than his thick skin. Spilled water was tainted with his blood and continued on its path to saturate his sleeve and drip onto his rug. A chill rushed up his spine and overheated his body.

Yet another fit of anger. Indeed it was fitting, ever so ironically.

He lashed out against the contents of his countertop to dispose the shards of his former drinkware onto the floor. Dishes caught in the fray were ceremoniously destroyed and the destruction was satisfying as it ever was; the shambles of his rage disgusted him just the same.

Shizuo felt the pressure of his ribs against his lungs, his picked up breath agitated his smoker’s asthma. A heightened nicotine itch aided his mad search under disorderly mail and ungraded homework to find a banged up box with a lone stick and lighter. He fumbled the flint wheel and racked up failures to light up, but eventually the flame caught his cigarette; quickly, the smoke was puffed to life and short takes of nicotine grew into sustained draws.

The world finally slowed down.

Shizuo bent over the support of his chair, his cigarette comfortably laid between his fingers, wrist slack. He gazed up at a fuzzy mass of grey that he assumed was his ceiling. The bags under his eyes never felt as swollen as they did, as if he were allergic to admitting his emotions and his prescriptive addiction failed to tend to his symptoms.

The calm brought him around to a solution to his problem, he circled right on back to what he’d had upon waking. Smoke billowed from his empty laugh. It seemed best to separate himself from the catalyst that was Izaya.

_That was always the solution, wasn't it?_

A coward’s journey was the only one for him, as always. It wasn't necessarily the _right_ one, definitely not admirable, but he was stuck between the stability of a decent career and the rise of his past trauma ruining his life.

_"Stop running from yourself, Shizuo.”_

It wasn't running, but accepting that he couldn't handle the situation on his own and especially not with his maturity. It wasn't _right_ , it was needed.

 

His morning became a race against the already dwindled hours. Shizuo strategized his future conversation with the principal, the discussion was one he’d insist happen immediately, as his cold feet necessitated. Though he was troubled from the very beginning of how to make it happen.

_How does he properly ask for a student to be transferred out of his class?_

Driven by frantics, Shizuo was humourlessly unable to pinpoint which details to include and which to redact and felt a travesty of a teacher for his lacked writing skills.

_Should he lie through omission or speak honestly through lies?_

Tenuously he worked at his craft without clarity of thought in fear of the looming threat of his terminated employment along with the possibility that his testimony would expel Izaya. If he didn’t word it properly there would be heavy repercussions. Everything relied on how he comported his presentation or else _both_ their fates would be compromised instead of spared.

Anxiety weighed heavy on his confidence that only hung by a delicate string of moral support.

_“Stop running from yourself, Shizuo.”_

His encouragement, a fictitious version of Izaya that stuck around his conscious thought, whom only wanted the best for him.

Shizuo possibly misinterpreted Izaya, his doppelganger a far cry from actual flesh and blood. In actuality he might be that immature brat only looking for mischief instead of working behind hidden intent.

Though he needn't consider that — right now he needed a push to see his tactic through. Ironically that support wore the image of Izaya, the same person he was trying to cast aside, and come the end of his day he’d likely never experience help from the real thing.

_Oh well…_

A chuckle bounced off the cupboards back onto him, the tune was far too grim for his liking. As he scribbled disjointed ideas onto the back of an envelope that continued to the flip side, his mind created a mantra.

_It’ll all be over soon…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shizuo has some problems. Too many. Poor boy. 
> 
> I always appreciate feedback, comments, and kudos! My readers are my lifeblood. Thank you so much for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> Izaya is flirtatious brat, and it pleases me so. Comments, feedback, whatever is always appreciated. ^^


End file.
